


Touch

by TheShebinator



Category: Homestar Runner
Genre: M/M, SB is touch-starved, and this is very self indulgent, if you want StrongStar cuddles and gratutitous desciptions you came to the right place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShebinator/pseuds/TheShebinator
Summary: Knock-off video gaming turns into some personal revelations and Strong Bad is unprepared.
Relationships: Strong Bad/Homestar Runner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is VERY self indulgent oh goodness

It started with some innocent leaning. You could tell where pushing him ended and leaning began. It’s buddy leaning; just casually shifting weight. Homestar and personal space aren’t well acquainted, but since when was that ever an issue for you. You’re pretty tactile as it is, but more on the beat-em-up side of the spectrum. Homestar likes to gradually lean his weight onto you because he knows you’ll eventually get annoyed and shove him off. Well, that’s how it used to be, but you’ve steadily built up a tolerance. 

And then you started leaning back. You’re lighter than he is, so you don’t annoy him as much as he annoys you. Homestar started to playfully bonk you on the head with his chin, but that changed too. Soon, it was just normal to find yourself resting on his shoulder while he smooshed his cheek into your head. 

It all happened so slowly, over the course of several years, that you didn’t even notice. Or, you chose not to and nobody decided to point it out. It wasn’t until you were both sprawled out on the couch watching TV, chest to chest and legs tangled nonchalantly that you started to really ask questions. 

You think about it mostly when you’re alone. You don’t admit to yourself how much you enjoy the closeness until he’s not here. The empty space around you is awfully noticeable, making you feel small and stranded in your own basement. 

You also notice in times like these that you never initiate this closeness. You always wait on Homestar to make the first move. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, only that it hasn’t come yet. 

You decide to bury yourself in a couch cushion and call it a night. 

Homestar shows up the next afternoon to play some race car game he has. You weren’t formally expecting him, but he always appears sometime during the day, so you’re ready for him anyway. He barges in without knocking -another on-brand thing for him- and thunders down the stairs go find you. He flips backwards over the couch and his head lands in your lap. You’re only a little bothered by it. 

It’s a garbage game, even by your standards. It’s a Plug-n-Play Mariokart bootleg with two flimsy plastic controllers. You’re pretty sure Homestar dug it out of Bubs’ “discount bin”: a fancy name for “Bubs’ trash”. Homestar claims he got a deal on it and you’re not in the mood for crushing his accomplishments today. You can, however, crush him at this game. It was made for guys like you with extremely limited dexterity. It’s a joystick and one very sticky button, and you’re the Napoleon of button mashing. 

You both sit on the floor and so close to the TV the static stings your eyes. This is how games are meant to be played, you know for sure. You’re already decently close together, the controller chords don’t allow for much room apart. The space he’s filling up is already making you feel better, but it’s not enough for some reason. You could lean against him, but that feels too forward. He has to lean on you first, that’s just How It Is. 

You’re at 6th place in the game as you deliberate on what to do. He looks too focused on this constantly-freezing game to take any initiative himself. He likes the game and you find it endearing in a moron kind of way. He’s always able to find the best in things and you can’t see how he does it. You drop another place in the race in your distraction. 

He’s right there. It wouldn’t be hard to just...just reach over. You can play it cool, you two have done more than just a shoulder touch. It’s just a light tap, like testing pool water. You don’t care much about basically being in last place as you work up the nerve to touch his shoulder. It’s just a touch...just a tap…. 

No, it’s a shove. A light shove, but still a shove. Homestar is caught off guard but rights himself easily. He turns to meet your eyes and you feel your stomach bottom out. But, he only smiles, teasingly calls you a sore loser (oh right, the game) and gives you light push back. You can leave it at that. You tested it out, and everything is okay still. You can go back to your safe area and keep playing this crappy game. 

But, that’s not what you do. In a rash burst of courage, you catch his “hand” and he pulls it back. You’ve spent enough time snuggled up to him and even you’re surprised at how you can calculate where his invisible limbs are. Homestar blinks at you in confusion and you pry your hand away from his. Now, that was too forward. You feel like you’ve overstepped a huge boundary even if you’ve been closer than that. You’ve never been the one to start it, and it felt like you had no permission to. 

Homestar doesn’t look angry, just caught off guard. His game ends and he makes 2nd place. The cheery knockoff victory music is drowned out by blood roaring in your ears. You stuff your hands in your lap and try to fiddle with the controller. Shake it off, Strong Bad, you win some you lose some. 

Homestar scoots closer. He knows when you’re trying to play it cool and you hate it. Still, you stumble for some reason why grabbing your bro’s hand and staring into his big, shiny eyes is just a bro thing between bros, but you come up empty. This isn’t how you wanted to broach this at all. You jump when you feel his hand on yours and now it’s his turn to look mortified. You don’t shoo him off; this kind of exactly what you wanted. You figure you’ve both come to the conclusion you’re reading each other correctly, but it doesn’t give you any idea of what to do next. Homestar shuffles closer again until you’re almost shoulder to shoulder. Both “hands” are now settled on yours. You don’t resist as he pulls your hands towards him and flips them palms up. He’s got digits on his invisible hands, four on each, and they drum idly on the backs of your gloves. He chuckles awkwardly and you do, too. This is very weird and very soft. He’s smiling and looking everywhere but at you. You’re not used to seeing him like this, it’s not often he’s shy about touch. You get the feeling this is different. It kind of irks you how he’s suddenly very interested in the couch fibers. His grasp flexes against your gloves like he’s working up the nerve for something. The suspense is killing you, and you decide to do something for him. 

You, in possibly the gentlest and fastest move you’ve ever pulled off, press your hand against his cheek. You have to restrain your muscle memory to keep from slapping him across the face, and you sort of succeed. His eyes snap back to yours in shock and his free hand floats up against your own. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. No, lean isn't a strong enough adjective. He _buries_ his face in your glove. You both let out a breath at the same time. Your heart swells and you feel like you just did something you’ve been trying to do for years. His touch is much gentler than yours as he holds your other hand and it feels amazing. 

Well, you can’t stop now. The dam has burst and you’re not close enough anymore. You two have been more accidentally tender than this. You take the plunge and pull him forward. It’s a clumsy pull and he has to catch himself with his arm; you collide with a very uncool oof. Immediately you latch onto Homestar and wedge your face in his neck. You don’t care how weird this is anymore, the euphoria overshadows any embarrassment. Homestar shifts you both into a more comfortable sitting position, his “arms” are wound tightly around you and his cheek resting against yours. 

Homestar is warm, so warm that the room temp feels like the Arctic in comparison. Every part of you he’s not touching feels so exposed and you wish you could just sink into him entirely. You squeeze him tighter and scare yourself with the harshness. Homestar isn’t bothered, thankfully. He only giggles and hugs you tighter. He’s so eager to reciprocate that you almost feel stupid for hesitating so much earlier. You’re so close you can feel every breath he takes. Feel every beat of his stupid, moronic, awful, lovable heart. 

You don’t want to be able to tell where he begins and you end. Your head is simultaneously empty and chock full. It’s a lot of Homestar-shaped gibberish bouncing around in your skull like some Windows ‘98 screensaver. You _vastly_ underestimated how much you needed this. You know you’re going to kick yourself for being so needy and touch-starved later, but right now having Homestar pressed up against you feels as vital as oxygen. 

You’re so caught up in sorting your thoughts that it takes a light snore to snap you out of it. Homestar has gradually been leaning into you and breathing deeper. He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You stifle a rueful laugh for fear of waking him. Someone is bound to find you two like this now. Oh well, it’s not like you've never threatened your brothers into silence before. You shift him so you’re both resting on your sides against the couch. You tuck your head comfortably under his chin and lose yourself listening to him breathe. With your eyes closed, you can easily pretend you two are the only people who’ve ever existed. You indulge in that thought until you drift off as well.


End file.
